Post by Elina on Oct 1, 2007 23:42:40 GMT
The Witch-king's Opulent Bedchamber, Fortress of Carn Dûm
Early morning of November 10, 1347
Elína awoke to the sound of voices and the sensation of sinking into a delightfully sumptuous cloud. She opened her eyes – it took a great effort to do so, for it seemed that the weight of her eyelashes had increased tenfold – and saw through the mists that clouded her vision dark shapes receding through an arched entryway. Their heads bowed, long liripipes dangling from their hoods like serpents, the sable-clad servants exited as silently as shadows moving upon a wall. Candles were set about the room, misty amber halos surrounding them like orbs of muted light, like the faint beam of a lantern held by a traveler who was unlucky enough to find himself wandering in the deepest fog.
A movement in the room, a stirring, like a breeze through the cotton grass which grew in the tundra. A man looked down at her from eyes of quicksilver set in a handsome, regal face, a luminous being whose pale skin shown with silvery phosphorescence. Mists wrapped around his form like the misty vapor expelled from one's lips whilst breathing in the frigid air of the north. His raven black hair and beard almost had a silvery sheen from the reflection of the soft light which surrounded him. He was dressed in kingly robes, rich blues and cool whites embroidered with thread-of-silver. Power and might seemed to emanate from him, pulsating like the steady beat of a heart.
Elína gasped weakly when the man reached down and picked up her hand, turning it over so that the wrist was exposed. Even though her arm from her wrist to her shoulder was completely numb, somehow she felt his touch, the coolness of his hand, the tiny ridges and whorls which spiraled around his fingers. He brought his other hand up and stroked his fingers across the wound which cut across her wrist like a grim bracelet. Upon his forefinger, there was a golden ring set with a stone which glittered like a shard of ice, the gleam of its faucets reflecting the light of the candles and sparking in shades of amber, yellow, pink and white. The coruscating jewel held the weak, dying girl mesmerized, the glittery sparkles somehow bringing a sense of serenity to her.
Murmuring a few words, the man slowly drew his fingers around in circle above the wound. Elína whimpered as sudden warmth flooded through her frozen arm, making her muscles contract in painful spasms. "Shhh," he whispered, his voice deep and seductive, "the pain lasts for only a little while." He caressed her aching arm slowly, his skillful fingers applying light pressure, the gold of his ring warming her frozen skin with gentle heat.
Gradually warmth and feeling came back to her arm, and Elína looked up at the man in amazement. An enigmatic smile upon his face, he lifted her wrist up to his lips. Elína gasped in surprise as she felt his warm tongue laving her skin. Her wrist began to tingle as he bathed it with his tongue. She whimpered, for it felt as though her skin were being pulled, stretching, uncomfortably, but a murmur from his lips and a series of long, lingering kisses upon her wrist stilled her protests.
When at last the man drew away from her, Elína gasped loudly when she once again saw her wrist in the candlelight. The cut was gone! Her eyes wide and fearful, she looked to the man. Gone was the ethereal light which seemed to radiate from the core of his being; gone were the mists which floated around his form. He was a man like any other, of solid form, of flesh and blood. Somehow the transformation was more terrifying than the initial apparition.
Trembling, Elína licked her lips. "Elína say... t-thank you," she whispered.
Early morning of November 10, 1347
Elína awoke to the sound of voices and the sensation of sinking into a delightfully sumptuous cloud. She opened her eyes – it took a great effort to do so, for it seemed that the weight of her eyelashes had increased tenfold – and saw through the mists that clouded her vision dark shapes receding through an arched entryway. Their heads bowed, long liripipes dangling from their hoods like serpents, the sable-clad servants exited as silently as shadows moving upon a wall. Candles were set about the room, misty amber halos surrounding them like orbs of muted light, like the faint beam of a lantern held by a traveler who was unlucky enough to find himself wandering in the deepest fog.
A movement in the room, a stirring, like a breeze through the cotton grass which grew in the tundra. A man looked down at her from eyes of quicksilver set in a handsome, regal face, a luminous being whose pale skin shown with silvery phosphorescence. Mists wrapped around his form like the misty vapor expelled from one's lips whilst breathing in the frigid air of the north. His raven black hair and beard almost had a silvery sheen from the reflection of the soft light which surrounded him. He was dressed in kingly robes, rich blues and cool whites embroidered with thread-of-silver. Power and might seemed to emanate from him, pulsating like the steady beat of a heart.
Elína gasped weakly when the man reached down and picked up her hand, turning it over so that the wrist was exposed. Even though her arm from her wrist to her shoulder was completely numb, somehow she felt his touch, the coolness of his hand, the tiny ridges and whorls which spiraled around his fingers. He brought his other hand up and stroked his fingers across the wound which cut across her wrist like a grim bracelet. Upon his forefinger, there was a golden ring set with a stone which glittered like a shard of ice, the gleam of its faucets reflecting the light of the candles and sparking in shades of amber, yellow, pink and white. The coruscating jewel held the weak, dying girl mesmerized, the glittery sparkles somehow bringing a sense of serenity to her.
Murmuring a few words, the man slowly drew his fingers around in circle above the wound. Elína whimpered as sudden warmth flooded through her frozen arm, making her muscles contract in painful spasms. "Shhh," he whispered, his voice deep and seductive, "the pain lasts for only a little while." He caressed her aching arm slowly, his skillful fingers applying light pressure, the gold of his ring warming her frozen skin with gentle heat.
Gradually warmth and feeling came back to her arm, and Elína looked up at the man in amazement. An enigmatic smile upon his face, he lifted her wrist up to his lips. Elína gasped in surprise as she felt his warm tongue laving her skin. Her wrist began to tingle as he bathed it with his tongue. She whimpered, for it felt as though her skin were being pulled, stretching, uncomfortably, but a murmur from his lips and a series of long, lingering kisses upon her wrist stilled her protests.
When at last the man drew away from her, Elína gasped loudly when she once again saw her wrist in the candlelight. The cut was gone! Her eyes wide and fearful, she looked to the man. Gone was the ethereal light which seemed to radiate from the core of his being; gone were the mists which floated around his form. He was a man like any other, of solid form, of flesh and blood. Somehow the transformation was more terrifying than the initial apparition.
Trembling, Elína licked her lips. "Elína say... t-thank you," she whispered.
